


Sharp

by Ophelia Coelridge (daemonluna)



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-03
Updated: 2001-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemonluna/pseuds/Ophelia%20Coelridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words are exchanged backstage before the last show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp

Calgary. Regina. Winnipeg. Saskatoon. Edmonton.

In the end, it all comes down to this.

"This is it." Joe turns his head and spits. "One more for the fucking road."

One more. One more show, one more hit, one more boot in the ribs when you're already down, one more shot. All it takes is one more.

"No more band, no more band," John chants crazily, rocking back and forth. "No more Hard Core, no more, no more."

Pipe looks from one to the other, scowling balefully. "Do any of you assholes even give a shit if we make it to the fucking stage?" He turns away, muttering. "Bunch of fucking psychos, all of you."

"Because," Joe continues, "We can't do _anything_ without the fucking _great Billy Tallent_." He spits out the words as if they are bitter poison, as if he can use them to kill.

"He's already dead," John says suddenly, clearly. "He just doesn't know it yet."

"Shut the fuck up, John," Billy says automatically, irritably. Billy never wants to hear the truth.

"No," Joe says, circling Billy and grinning like a shark. "No, Johnnie-boy's right. Because _someone_ , someone here is a fucking  
 _sell-out_."

But John, eyes fever-bright, is staring at Joe.

Maybe Billy's ashamed. Maybe he's not. He keeps his eyes resolutely fixed on the Strat in his hands, the strings beneath his fingers. And  
his fingers are steady and his hands don't shake.

And then Joe reaches out and cuffs him across the back of the head. Twenty-four hours ago, it would have been rough affection, a love-tap,  
just so they know where they stand. Now, it's a challenge. Joe Dick, being a Dick, pushing, pushing, pushing.

Joe is broken-bottle dangerous, erratic, wild, and spun out of control.

Billy looks up. And he's not sorry. He's not going to give. "Not everything, Joe--" He is fiercely exultant, but then again, he's always  
had to fight to make Joe Dick bleed. "--is about you."

Billy is dangerous like a switchblade in an alley slid silently between the ribs.

And he knows, and Joe knows, and everybody knows, that something between them is already irrevocably broken, smashed into a million pieces so sharp that you'll never notice you've cut yourself until you're bleeding to death.

"Love," John croons to himself. "Loooove."


End file.
